


Ride

by robinwritesallthefanfiction



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Negan, Kissing, Motorcycles, Neck Kissing, Swearing, Wet Clothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthefanfiction/pseuds/robinwritesallthefanfiction
Summary: You find Negan working on his motorcycle in Sanctuary.





	

You walk around the corner, your last bottle of water in your hand. You stop when you see Negan sitting on the ground beside his motorcycle, his long, lean legs stretched out in front of him. He hasn’t noticed you yet, so you take the opportunity to admire him.

He’s dressed differently than usual, in a tight white t-shirt that clings alluringly to his taut musculature, dark blue jeans that hang low on his hips, and black cowboy boots. His leather jacket hangs off of the handlebars of the motorcycle, and his clothes are smeared with grease and oil. As you watch him, he runs the back of one of his hands across his forehead, smudging more grease and oil there. You smile; in the rare moments when you see him like this, you can forget that he’s the leader of the Saviors and think of him as just a man.

He finally realizes that you’re there, and you blush deeply as he looks up at you. Nothing has happened between you yet, though you know he’s had his eye on you from the whispers around the compound. You honestly aren’t sure how you feel about it. You’re definitely attracted to him; he’s smart, powerful, and handsome, and you know he would never force you to do anything against your will or hurt you. But the idea of sharing him? That bothers you. You think he’s going to ask you to join him as one of his wives eventually, so you’ve been trying to figure out if not having him at all is worse than sharing him.

When he smiles at you like he’s smiling now, with his dimples on full display and that sensual look in his warm hazel eyes, you know you would say yes to anything he asked.

You try to collect yourself, walking closer to him, holding out the water bottle. “I brought you some water,” you say, your voice quivering a little. You vainly hope that he doesn’t notice, but when his lips curve up into a devilish grin, you know that he has. He stands, grabbing a rag from his pocket and cleaning off the tool he’s holding in his hand. He tilts his head to beckon you over, and you walk until you’re standing in front of him.

Negan stuffs the rag back into his pocket, setting the tool aside and taking the water bottle from you, making sure that his fingers brush against yours. “Thanks, doll,” he drawls, and your heart threatens to leap out of your chest. He tilts his head back and drains half of the bottle of water; you can’t take your eyes off of his throat and how all of his smooth, slightly tan skin cascades down to the neck of his t-shirt, where his dark chest hair is peeking out, curling up temptingly.

When he lowers his head again, he winks at you. “Aaahhh,” he sighs, “that is fucking refreshing as shit!” Holding your gaze, he tips the bottle over into his hand, splashing the water onto his cheeks and using his hand to smear it around to the back of his neck. The look on your face must be urging him on, because he laughs before lifting the bottle over his head and squeezing the rest of the water out. It runs down his face to wet his t-shirt and you involuntarily lick your lips. He laughs heartily, shaking his head to get some of the water out of his hair, running his hand through it to tame it a bit.

“Honey, you look like you’re about to have a fucking brain aneurysm,” he teases. “You need to loosen up a bit. Have some fucking fun.” He glances behind him at the motorcycle and then back at you. “You ever been on one of these fucking things before?” he asks. You shake your head.

“I was always afraid of them, to be honest,” you admit. He swings his leg over the leather seat, sitting down and holding his hand out to you. “Come sit in front of me, sweetheart.” Your body obeys before your mind can fully process the command, and you carefully lift yourself up so you can settle in front of him on the seat. His large, firm hands encircle your waist possessively, and he buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply. You gasp when he begins to kiss your neck, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access. What a fool you were to think you could ever resist his magnetism.

“Fuck, doll, do you know how long I’ve wanted to get my fucking hands on you?” he pants. He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, delicately tugging on it with his teeth. You cry out his name in surprise and he growls happily in your ear. “Now that’s what I fucking like to hear,” he says, pulling you closer to him and reaching up to cup your cheek, turning your head so that he can give you a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss. Your hands tremble as your lips part under his; you’re not sure where to put them. He smiles against your mouth, brushing his nose against yours, and reaches up to take your hands in his.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you to be one of my wives for a while now, honey,” he says, “but I get the feeling you don’t like to share.” You gaze up at him, thinking of how to respond. His lips brush your forehead and his fingers trace the line of your jaw. “You can be honest with me, sweetheart,” he says, lowering his eyes to gaze into yours again.

“I’m…” you start, and you have to stop and clear your throat so your voice comes out as more than a breathy whisper, “I’m just not sure how the sharing works. I don’t want to be selfish; I know I’m not the only one who wants you, or the only one you want.”

He chuckles. “My other wives don’t want me,” he confides in you. “They just like the perks of being with me. I’m looking for someone who’s all in. If you say yes, darlin’… you won’t have to share.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. You can have him all to yourself? Yes, please.

“But I wouldn’t ask you to commit without taking me out for a test drive first, honey. Want to go for a ride?” He nods toward the handlebars of the bike and you glance at him nervously. He raises an eyebrow at you. “I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetheart. I promise.”

You look back at the handlebars again. “Do I get to hang on to you the whole way?” you ask, and he laughs.

“Fuck yes, doll. You can hang on as fucking tight as you want.” He cups your cheek again, turning your face to his and brushing his lips over your forehead and then your nose, waiting for you to say yes.

You blush again, and you know this is your chance. You have to make a decision.

“Okay,” you say, your stomach fluttering nervously. “As long as I don’t have to let go of you.”


End file.
